


Chrysalis

by jeannedarcprice



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Flirting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mass Effect Reverse Big Bang, Mass Effect Reverse Big Bang 2019, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Tattoos, bad language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-06 21:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeannedarcprice/pseuds/jeannedarcprice
Summary: Jack has a seemingly chance meeting with Miranda on the Citadel. The dark-haired beauty wants a tattoo to celebrate something, and that something is inevitably brought up once the ink is being driven into her skin.Is this a chance for the fiery on-off lovers to get to understand each other a little more?





	Chrysalis

**Author's Note:**

> This is my story for the mini [Reverse Mass Effect Big Bang](https://masseffectbigbang.wordpress.com/)!
> 
> Thank you [solstheimart](https://solstheimart.tumblr.com/) for the intriguing art that just sucked me in and made me want to write very much outside of my comfort zone! I hope I did Jackanda justice!  
> Major thanks to my beta reader [shotce](https://shotce.tumblr.com/), aka [Falling Over Sideways](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingOverSideways) on here, and for delighting me with your little comments!
> 
> Finally, thanks for azzy for always putting so much hard work into making this happen!
> 
> Below is the original vision blurb.  
> Rating preference: T or higher  
> Miranda decides on a tattoo, Jack is glad to help out, but something tells her that getting a tattoo is releasing a lot of bad memories or baggage that’s she’s been shouldering. Perhaps a talk is in order. Good thing they have an hour or two. (Heavy preference on Jackanda, talks about heavier stuff up to the author)

 

Jack’s heavy-booted feet took her swiftly through the holding dock. It was alive here, a little chaotic – she liked it that way. The less orderly things were, the better people seemed to live. However, she started to pay attention to the nagging details; the memorial on the wall that she’d passed, the smell, the people’s faces.

She frowned.

These were all refugees alright. She felt more comfortable here then she did in the Presidium, the Strip or the Wards. Those places were still clean and bustling like the high-end places they were, delegates and people of position busying about like there was no immediate threat from the reaper invasion.

Sure, it was being screened on the news twenty-four-seven. Sure, they knew that colonies back wherever home was were being wiped out with not so much as a cry, but a whimper. Still they just carried on their lives like nothing was happening. At least here in the docks you could see it was happening, and help out in your own little ways if you could.

She’d seen that meathead Vega sporting a new tat the last time she was visiting the Normandy. He’d come over to the show it to her because, like so many others before, he assumed that as she had some herself she’d be interested in their ink. Big no no, really. Jack was never interested in other people’s tattoos. Tattoos were personal, and she only cared about them if she cared about the owner.

She’d dryly congratulated him on it and asked what it was for, even though she knew it was the N7 logo. He’d explained it to her, and his logic made sense. With the whole galaxy falling to shit, who _was_ around to put him through the training and set him up with official status? He might as well claim it for himself. And there was no better way to do it then tattoo the celebrated badge on his skin. He’d certainly more than earned that N7 status helping the Commander take down reapers.

That encounter had brought her here, to the refugee docks, looking for a very specific item. She turned the corner, keeping on the lookout for batarians – specifically a batarian touting wears from Batarian State Arms. There was a hodgepodge of hastily set up containers doubling as refugee quarters, and she spied a group of the four-eyed bastards hanging around a kiosk. Surmising that this was where she needed to be, she strut into the area with a confident gait and started talking.

“Hear there’s a batarian who’s set up shop here doing tats. Think I can speak to him?”

The multiple sets of four eyes in front of her didn’t even look guardedly at her ink, in fact they looked opening and approvingly at it. She’d be loathe to admit it, but she was losing her intimidating edge. All that time teaching the kids was making her soft, but she’d loathe to admit that particular point even more.

“He’s in the back on that side. Names Ashka. He’ll be happy to have some skin to work with. Business has been slow.”

Jack’s full lips lifted into a hint of a smirk as she strode to the corner. They were left unpainted today, she’d been thinking that she liked the look better. As she came up to the door frame she took hold of one edge and put all of her weight onto one hip in a well-versed show of dominance.

“You the artist around here?” she flippantly addressed the batarian who was lounging on a cot listening to a receiver. “Only, I have use for that tattoo gun of yours.”

The batarian sat upright, his genuine smile appearing like a sneer as he looked at her. “Finally, another customer. Some skin to work on. Looks like you have quite a collection.”

“I do. But I’m not the one who wants a tattoo today. What I do want is to _borrow_ your equipment to tattoo said person.” She could see the hesitation on the batarian’s face, and was willing to do almost anything to secure that machine. “Tell you what, four eyes. You let me borrow it to tattoo with, and I’ll find a patch of skin on my bony ass for you to have a go on, deal?”

The batarian looked suspiciously at her for a click, only a click, then agreed to her deal. Batarians were good at haggling, but the price of working on her must have been worth it. Equally for Jack, the price of letting that alien do some work on her meant that she just _had_ to have that machine. As the batarian handed her the goods she sighed inwardly at herself. She really _was_ getting soft.

 

\--

She’d come to her not a few hours earlier – more like she’d _appeared_ to her. Jack had been chilling in _Purgatory_ , trying to show her students a good time before their deployment as field support. She didn’t think they’d be up to the tasks of front line duty yet, but the little shits had shown promise, so getting them out into some semblance of the fray would be both beneficial to the war effort, and to their self-esteem.

She glanced over at Rodriguez as she sat wide-eyed, listening to Alenko retell the horrors of having to deal with an L2 implant. The soldier seemed to have taken it in his stride, not making a big fuss over it, and just acted like it was his lot. Jack inwardly admired the sheer amount of shit he’d had to put up with due to that amp, but then her thoughts had taken a dark turn as she remembered the shit _she’d_ put up with at the hands of Cerberus due to her biotic prowess. Her charges had instantly noticed the change in her, able to read their tutor’s mood right off her face, and so they weren’t surprised when she excused herself from the table and wandered off to a secluded part of the club. When Alenko had tried to go after her she was grateful that those same stupid kids of hers stopped him, and she heard them expertly give him an excuse and draw him back into tales about his exploits with Commander Shepard…

She hid up against a dark wall and melted into the shadows there, hooded eyes taking in the view. Typical club, typical revellers. Lights and dancing and _booze_ and…She started to feel frustration rise inside her. She’d brought the kids here for some normality after what they’d experienced at the Academy, to treat them all to matching tattoos to celebrate how they’d all barely escaped with their lives. The Commander had a way of turning up just when the shit was hitting the fan, and by god they’d needed him that time. If she truly thought about it, even with her training them, they wouldn’t have survived that coup. And by surviving she meant they’d’ve been taken by Cerberus and would’ve been as good as dead. If what Shepard had told them was true, there would’ve been a whole new generation of Jacks who’d sufferer at their hands.

Damn she loved those kids, simultaneously loving and hating herself for that disgusting _motherly_ feeling she had towards them. Still, it’d been the right choice for her. It was eating away at that self-destructive edge of hers, giving her an avenue to channel all the damn suffering into. It was like in helping them harness their powers she was sorting out all those issues she never got to address herself. The ‘psychotic biotic’ is what they endearingly called her – she tutted to herself, letting the amusement of the thought raise a smile on her lips. A smile, it seems, that didn’t go unnoticed.

“That smile suits you. I haven’t seen you smile like that in an age.”

Jack rolled her eyes, sure that she was being hit on and ready to tell whoever had voiced the unwelcome compliment to shove it in a not so eloquent fashion. But then she realised that it was a female voice, a _familiar_ female voice, and hated herself as her whole body jolted in recognition. She tilted her head to the side, barely, taking in the profile of the woman standing beside her; a petite face with plump cheeks, so pale it reflected all the neon lights in the club, hair so dark it _sucked_ the light out of the place. Light coloured eyes that silently looked ahead in an attempt not to give away her intentions for being here.

Miranda.

“If it ain’t the Cerberus bitch herself,” Jack stated dryly, resisting the urge to get in closer.

“Oh please, _Jacqueline_ ,” she always used her full name to piss her off. “You of all people know that I left Cerberus a long time ago.”

“Once Cerberus, always Cerberus!” Jack retorted. Why was she like this?

“I guess the same could be said of you too.” Finally those eyes looked at her, and they were dark and daring and _conceited_ in the flickering lights. “Cerberus made both of us who we are!”

Equal smiles crept on both of their faces, a heated stare exchanged between them.

“God dammit I missed you. Where the fuck have you been all this time?”

“That can wait,” Miranda cautioned, drawing in closer so she could whisper in her ear. “I heard you were planning to give those students of yours tattoos for all their hard work. Well, I’ve decided I want one too. Practice on me first?”

The breath in her ear was warm and inviting, and Jack suddenly wished that she was wearing that lipstick after all. “Sure,” she answered, trying to make it sound like she didn’t care. “Why not. I just need to go wrangle a machine off a batarian. Where do we meet?”

“I have a place in the wards. When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.” Jack’s omni-tool pinged a location, and the biotic smiled inwardly at the satisfaction of it. With little more said and her liaison set, the other woman strode away as stealthily as she’d appeared.

Jack hated how she felt inside. If she had to admit to a word it’d be ‘giddy’. But feeling giddy wasn’t in her vocabulary, and so she decided that smug was far better. That was a word she used often for the ‘Perfect Miss Lawson’.

 

\--

“You ready for this, Miri? It’s gonna hurt like a bitch!”

Miranda wriggled her angular shoulders, skin like fine porcelain, and sank further into the cot. She tilted her head to the side and let out a calming breath.

“Yes. Now get started before I change my mind.”

Jack smirked at her answer, knowing all too well that once Miranda made up her mind, well, it was made up. She’d already checked the pen on herself, on a go to patch of skin that bore the marks of countless crappy tests. When you had a history of inking yourself as much as Jack did, it paid to have an area to practise on. She never wanted to give herself a shitty tattoo, and so by extension, that fine skin under her hands now.

She took a breath to steady herself, then activated the tool.

Truth be told she’d half expected this encounter. A couple of weeks after the Cerberus coup, after her and her kids had been dropped off on the Citadel and had settled in, Shepard had called the whole team, ex-members and all, to the Citadel for a ‘party’. A last middle finger up at the Reapers before they all went their separate ways into oblivion. That’s what it’d felt like anyway, and the moment Jack had got the invite she wondered if it’d make Miranda come out of hiding. Shepard had mentioned his encounter and subsequent mission with the agent. The shit was dropping so fast at the Cerberus invasion of Grissom Academy that she didn’t have time to process her emotions. Hell, emotions were the last thing that Jack _ever_ processed. She’d always worked on impulse, adrenaline; like that tense moment on the Normandy SR-2 when Shepard had shown them both who was boss. They were at each other’s throats, spitting and catty, only Miranda’s face had been so smug and condescending – Jack felt the heat rise inside her that day, had felt like blowing that shitty look off her face that very instant.

Luckily Shepard had been there, because if he hadn’t, there wouldn’t have been that incident a few days later when Miranda came to _her_ , in that red lit cubby-hole of hers, and with that smug, condescending smile on her face undid her jump suit…

Jack huffed out a breath at the memory, an unseen smile lighting up her face.

“What are you thinking of, babe? I know that sound means you’re enjoying a thought of yours,” Miranda asked lazily. Jack looked on as she activated the tattoo machine again, the humming and punching causing a slight flex of the shoulder blades of the woman underneath her.

“I was just remembering the first time you showed me your tits, that’s all!”

She did that little laugh, the one when she was truly amused. “That was only ever a one-night-stand. You made that pretty clear. I made it pretty clear. Yet here we are.” She sighed then grit her teeth and hissed at the needles worked ink into a sensitive patch of skin. She was glad of it, really. It’d given her a chance to hide her thoughts.

Time passed, and soon there was pain – bearable pain – stretching from her left shoulder and burning a line towards the middle of her spine. Jack assured her that the work would be painful for a while to come, and that she’d have to sleep on her front as it healed. Still, the dark-haired beauty didn’t complain. She could feel the needles work their magic, and in a way it was having the desired effect on her.

Jack inevitably voiced the question that Miranda hoped wouldn’t be asked. As she spoke Miranda could hear the concentration in her voice over the buzzing of the tattoo machine. “Miri. You gonna tell me why I’m tattooing the life-cycle of a butterfly onto your back? Or am I gonna have to guess what it means?”

Miranda’s stomach dropped. She never liked to show her insecurities. She’d always complained about how she was perfect, how she’d been made to be perfect. _Manufactured_ to be perfect. She’d voiced it as if she was proud of it really, but deep down she didn’t like that she’d been created. It didn’t feel like she’d struck out on her own, left her own skin, her cocoon. Yet there was Jack, feisty, impulsive, _alive_. She’d overcome the damage done to her, laughing in its face and owning it. It was tattooed all over her body, art through pain and suffering. She wanted something equally as symbolic. What better than the butterfly with her fragile wings breaking free from the cocoon that she’d gestated in? She finally felt like that butterfly, and wanted to wear it for all to see.

“It was the mission a few weeks back, at ‘Sanctuary’,” she heard Jack make a low growl in response, the jabbing pain of the needles intensifying like she’d done it on purpose. “Stop it! You wanted to know why? You have to listen to the whole story.”

“I got no time for stories, babe. No boo hoo, woe’s me shit,” the harshness of her words was suddenly cut off and that more malleable tone filled her voice. “But I ain’t going nowhere until this is finished. And I _did_ ask the question. So I guess I’d better shut my mouth and listen!”

“Too true,” Miranda stated satisfactorily. Nowadays it didn’t take much for Jack to rein in her wild impulses around her. She liked that the other woman cared enough to grant her that.

“You’re not going to like this story. It involves more Cerberus experiments on humans...”

“What were they doing?” Jack asked gravely, the angry tinge to her voice barely contained. She doubled down to the task at hand, stippling shading on a wing deep into the tissue underneath the tattoo gun.

“Cerberus…and my father,” she paused, like the words were hurting her somehow. “They were tricking refugees into coming to Sanctuary. They preyed on them like vultures, deceiving them with safety, food, shelter.” There was a long silence and Jack waited, uncharacteristically patiently, for her to carry on. “They were turning some into husks, indoctrinating others – they were trying to work out how reaper indoctrination worked. Anyone left were used in experiments!” She almost spit the last sentence out, Jack quickly jolting the tattoo gun higher so she wouldn’t make a mistake on her. “I went there to stop the refugee broadcast that was sending people there in droves, and found out that they’d succeeded in working out a way to control reaper forces. That’s why they attacked.”

“Who?” Jack had sat back now, half admiring what she had completed, half taking a break when she felt the shivers start to come off Miranda’s body. She allowed herself to place a hand on her arm. Covered as it was it suited her fine. It was a welcome boundary to the tender touch she was performing.

“Reapers. I guess in a way what The Illusive Man, Cerberus, and my father had achieved there – at the cost of all those innocent lives – was worth it. They must’ve felt threatened. But…” she hesitated, knowing that the woman sitting over her had suffered at Cerberus’ hands too and nothing could justify it. She didn’t want to anger her by commending their actions. “No. _Nothing_ justifies what they were doing. Smoke and mirrors. Trickery. Using innocent life for their experiments.”

Jack allowed her fingers to squeeze the arm held in it. Miranda turned her head on the cot and gave her a knowing, sympathetic look from beneath her dark hair.

“My father was holding Oriana hostage, and it was only her I truly cared about. Her and making sure that the place went up in flames. The rest doesn’t matter. I did want I came to do. I got that son of a bitch of a father out of my life for good. And I’m glad that Shepard stood on and let me do it. Ori’s finally safe, I’m finally safe. We can finally stop running. Only it’s probably too late. _Dammit_!” She would have flinched if she was allowed to move, and she hid the real sting of tears that were threatening to saturate the sheets beneath her. Jack stayed quiet, distracting herself by carrying on with the inking, colouring in the royal blue wings of a raw looking butterfly. When she didn’t voice her thoughts Jack spoke up for her.

“I can’t promise you that there’s gonna be anything fuckin’ worth coming back to after this war,” Jack said with her characteristic brashness – Miranda was never expecting her to sugar coat it. “We’ve seen all the shit the galaxy has to offer, and how it’s more than likely going out with a bang!” She stopped momentarily and looked out of the wide windows, wondering how the fuck the Citadel could be so normal despite what was happening in the vast void beyond.

She changed to a line needle and activated the tattoo machine once again, turning to her lover and hunching over as she moved away from the now completed butterfly adorning her back to add the last part to the image. Once she gauged the level of noise from the buzzing needles she began talking over it. “We’ve been trying to run all our lives, Miri. You from that bastard father, in search of something more than _his_ legacy, some achievements to own all by yourself and not just to those nifty genetics of yours,” she paused, hearing the huff that escaped from her lungs at the comment. “Me? Just running away from _me_ . What made me, _me_ . I tried to reinvent myself so many times, and you know the tattoos helped with that. But Grissom Academy was finally the place where I felt at home. With those snot-faced biotic kids, still finding out who the fuck they are and also trying to harness these shitty powers at the same time. I saw a lot of myself in them, so, _whatever_.”

Miranda smiled, knowing what it was that Jack would never admit to. She knew her well enough to finish the sentence in her own head. She reached an arm backwards and a latex bound hand took up her delicate fingers, giving them a light squeeze.

“So we done with the shrink talk, babe?”

“I think we are, Jack,” Miranda murmured pleasantly, taking in a deep calming breath and sinking onto the cot once again. Jack felt the tension released in her muscles, noticing how her skin seemed softer now, the subtle heat returning to it. She wished she could touch that skin with her bare hands. But that would have to wait for now.

Both women stayed in a mutual silence; shallow breaths and slowly blinking eyes. Miranda concentrated on the continuous, repeating sensation enveloping her body. The buzz, the sting, a gentle hand firmly wiping away unspent ink; the burn of her skin. I was somehow cathartic, like the very real physical discomfort was leeching the damaged emotions she had.

She closed her eyes and opened her senses beyond it all, hearing the shuttles just outside the windows, the sounds of the Citadel going about its business. Jack had been right; she’d ferried Ori to safety, somewhere secret and safe where she’d hopefully out survive the war. If Miranda made it, she’d join her. She filled her lungs with the sweet, freedom-laced air, truly allowing herself to believe that she was finally free. The stinging on her back was proof of it, just like the breath of her lover on her skin sealed that everything she’d done was right. She’d leave this place with this keepsake on her skin, and take the fight to the reapers in any way that she could, would take a part of Jack with her too…

The buzzing stopped, and she realised that she’d gotten so used to the hum of it that her senses were sending phantom sounds to her ears and pin-pricks on her lower back. Jack’s voice brought her back from that place.

“There. I’m done.”

Miranda lifted herself off the table, arching her back in a cat-like way before throwing her neck backwards. It sent her hair cascading down her back, and Jack quickly secured it back over her shoulder with a tender brush of her glove bound hand.

The pale woman’s face came into view as she turned her head, those full lips inviting and smiling in that smug way. Only this time it was smug because she had overcome something.

“All this time, and I never knew you were left handed,” she chuckled lightly at her observation.

“I’m not,” Jack replied, humour in her eyes. “How’d you think I tattooed my _right_ arm, you silly bitch. I learned to use both hands!”

Miranda tutted at the answer, glancing at the ink on her lover’s right arm. It was intricate, made of geometric patterns, but also the tattoo of vertebrae spliced with tags. She’d boasted once that it was a record of all the people she’d killed and how she’d killed them. Miranda didn’t doubt that, but what drew her attention more was the long, deep, healed scar that they were trying to cover.

Jack studied Miranda’s gaze, knowing exactly what she was looking at – it usually bothered her when people where clearly using her tattoos as an excuse to get a good look at her scars, but with her she let it slide. Only with her… She let the moment pass before drawing her fingers across the base of Miranda’s spine, a feather-light touch just above the waistline of her dark pants. “I added something,” she revealed teasingly, smoothing what she’d done with her gloved fingers. She was expecting Miranda to lose her shit, to flip out on her, but she stayed calm and she rose further onto her forearms.

“Sneaky bitch,” she chuckled, before taking in a deep breath as if to ready herself. “Okay, show me.”

Jack smiled satisfactorily as she leant back onto the stool, activating her ‘tool and setting it to projection mode. The wall beyond them came to life, and Miranda looked through her heavy lashes at her own back, now marked in blue and black, studying it.

More to the centre of her back was a blue butterfly, wings spread like it was pinned to a specimen board, the fine details stippled in a black, shading in blue, the redness of her skin around it almost more beautiful for it. Two more butterflies flew over her left shoulder, like they were finally free. Jack had kept it off view, but now she panned slowly down to the bottom right of her back, to the image of a chrysalis imbedded in the eye socket of a skull, an omega sign circling it. A little smile danced across her face. She recognised it as the design that was boldly tattooed on Jack’s back.

“You’re not angry?”

“Not really,” Miranda replied gently, “but now I have to ask you why.”

“Yeah, shit. About that. Look at me, will ya?”

Miranda shuffled onto her side, her thick dark hair falling behind her neck onto the cot beneath her, her small breasts barely affected by her change in position. She had an inviting look on her face, and Jack felt eased by it, nervous at how she’d say it, but eased.

“I had it tattooed on me to denote my species – human – of fucking course, like it’s not obvious. But it eventually meant more to me than that. That’s why it’s such a big-ass tattoo. It means that despite everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve done, every _stupid fuckin’ jackass_ action I’ve ever done, every _stupid fuckin’ ass_ thing that’s been done to _me,_ I’m still human. And I’ll always be human. That’s the one thing they can’t take away from me. For all my flaws, my scars, I’m human, and we’re a pretty damn hardy species!”

Those blue eyes flickered under those full lashes again, questioning. Jack huffed internally, her heart quickening at the prospect of having to say more.

“God dammit!” she cursed, half in a mumble to herself. “Okay. I added it because even though you’re _perfect_ Miss Lawson,” she sneered playfully as it was Miranda’s turn to huff, but outwardly and in an exacerbated fashion. “Haha, hold it together for a moment. I swear it’s worth putting up with!” She trailed her gloved fingers down Miranda’s now sour looking face as she continued to speak. “Babe. You may be perfect, genetically engineered, controlled by those who would use you and your talents for their own needs, but,” her voice became softer and weaker as she carried on, “you’re _human_ too. This shell, this,” she searched for the word, “ _chrysalis_ has and always will be human. You’re what you make of yourself. And you’ve proven that you can forge your own way. There, just listen to the pure shit coming outta my mouth!”

Miranda’s brow softened, and her large, full lips pushed a kiss onto Jack’s. If she’d been wearing make up like she usually did they would have stained them.

“I love it!” Miranda whispered. “Show me it again?” She propped herself onto her front once more, Jack taking off her gloves and wiping them over with an antiseptic cloth. This time, she crawled onto the cot with Miranda and straddled her hips, activating her omni-tool to project the image of her back on the wall. Those cold fingers brushed over her firm skin, tracing the omega sign then gently moving to the chrysalis.

“So then, the chrysalis symbolises your genes, your father, your _cage_. It’s beautiful, perfect, suited to help you achieve everything you wanted. But, what’s that moronic saying? It’s a ‘gilded cage’. And god-damn, you’ve smashed through it.”

“You’re getting good at this, Jack. Go on.”

They both stared at the full-winged butterfly in the middle of the image. “This one’s you – obviously – proud of who you are, free, bold. Flying off, not giving a shit!”

“Not giving a shit!” her lover affirmed in a breathy voice. Her lip trembled as even the light touch of the ink near her spine stung.

“Okay, and if we’re gonna really get into this sentimental bullshit,” Jack pointed to one of the butterflies flying off her shoulder. “That one’s your sister. I have no fucking clue who the other one is!”

Miranda chuckled at the comment, smiling. “If we get to survive this war, maybe I’ll find out someday…”

Jack blinked slowly, trying not to think about the truth she was touching on, wishing that she could just pretend like nothing was going on. Just like all the idiots on the damn Citadel were. As she continued to stroke the soft back in front of her she noticed its texture change, a flush of goosebumps raising Miranda’s skin and sending her hairs standing on end.

“Cold?” Jack asked, rubbing on a patch of skin that hadn’t been worked on.

“No,” she replied simply, her voice changing tone. “Call it emotionally overwhelmed, touched, and…. _turned on_.”

Jack barked out a laugh at the woman underneath her. “I forgot! I haven’t sat on your back in a long time!”

“Very true! And I would have you sit on my front, but I fear that would cause my back to sting.”

“I could always let you sit on me! Even though I know you’ve never liked it! Here, lemme just look at this for a little longer,” she sneered again, knowing that what she was about to say would truly piss Miranda off, “my little Blue Biotic Butterfly.”

“I hate it, _bitch!_ ” Miranda scolded, though there was a definite soft touch to her voice.

“I know you do!” Jack returned, bending forward and kissing the image of the chrysalis. “I’ll only use it when I’m pissed off with you.”

“Say it to my face and see what happens!” came the playful threat from underneath her.

“ _Please!_ Be patient! A little longer so I can burn this design into my head. Maybe I’ll be able to find a place on my bony ass to put a stupid blue butterfly on me too!”

Jack noticed the slight stiffening of Miranda’s hips underneath her at the comment. It must’ve more than hit a nerve; a _good_ nerve. She smiled. There was finally another person’s tattoo she was interested in.

 

\- END -

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> You can find more of my art / writing on my [Tumblr blog ](https://jeannedarcprice.tumblr.com/).  
> solstheimart is on tumblr [here](https://solstheimart.tumblr.com/).  
> Azzy's writing can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzy_Darling/).  
> And finally, the home of the Mass Effect Big Bang is [here](https://masseffectbigbang.wordpress.com/)!


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